


All In

by RowboatCop



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Lance Hunter: Shipper on Deck, Masturbation, Sex on Lola, Sex on a Car, Somewhat Dom Coulson, resolving sexual tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2014-10-28
Packaged: 2018-02-22 22:58:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2524832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowboatCop/pseuds/RowboatCop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post 2x05 Coulson and Skye porn. With Lola.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All In

He’s not even aware he’s doing it at first, when he walks her to her bedroom door.

Since they arrived at the Playground, he’s been putting distance between himself and Skye. He’s been watching her walk away from him, and it has sucked. Of course, he’s not sorry, not exactly. He can’t be sorry for trying to be sure Skye would be okay, can’t be sorry that he needed to observe her. (He’s grateful that she doesn’t need him to be sorry for that.)

It’s been hard, though, to watch her accepting the distance between him. To watch her walk away, to leave rooms, to put walls and closed doors and space between them.

So tonight, no matter how irrational it is, it makes sense that he doesn’t want to watch her leave his office.

It makes sense that he follows her out the door.

And it makes a sick kind of sense that he finds himself walking her to her bunk, like he’s enacting the awkward ritual of the end of a first date.

When she stops in front of her bedroom, it’s too soon — he doesn’t want this night to be over. It’s not exactly intentional when he reaches forward and lays his hand just above her elbow, wishes she was in short sleeves so that he could touch her skin.

Skye sways towards him, almost imperceptibly, and he’s overcome with the desire to kiss her. Up against her door, in her room, on her bed — his imagination runs away with images of what it would be like. His thoughts must be clear on his face, too, because Skye blushes and turns her eyes downwards, almost shy.

“Skye.” She looks back up at him, meets his eyes in a gaze that’s too intense for what they have been to each other these past months. It’s too intense for what they’ve _ever_ been to each other, and Coulson catches himself angling his head slightly, as though preparing to kiss her.

She clears her throat, though, and breaks his momentary spell.

“Night, AC.” And even though he’s disappointed, there’s still a thrill of elation that zings along his spine because that name should, by all rights, be lost to him. _Skye_ should, by all rights, be lost to him.

He’s so glad it isn’t. So glad _she_ isn’t.

“Goodnight, Skye.”

Their eyes stay locked together, though, for another endless moment that’s only broken by the sound of footsteps at the far end of the hall.

Skye nods once more at him and then disappears into her room, leaving Coulson standing awkwardly outside. He isn’t sure whether he wants to grin stupidly or bang his head against the wall.

“Dropping the Missus off?”

Coulson’s jaw tightens at the sound of Hunter’s voice, and he sets his face before he turns around.

“Agent Hunter,” Coulson nods politely. “Skye and I just had some things to discuss.”

Hunter glances down at his watch and then raises his eyebrows, and Coulson isn’t sure whether he’s commenting on the late hour or on how long he and Skye had been in his office.

Hours. It’s been hours. He’s never been so exhausted yet so energized, and he wonders how he forgot that that’s always the way it’s been with Skye. Being with her makes him feel young, hopeful, _alive_.

“That’s good, mate,” Hunter finally tells him, voice free of sarcasm. “It’s clear you’ve both been out of sorts.”

“Since before you got here.” That’s what annoys Coulson so much — that Hunter seems to be picking up on things he shouldn’t even have a reference for.

“True. It’ll be interesting to see what normal looks like now you’ve kissed and made up.”

“We didn’t…” Coulson clears his throat. “Agent Skye and I have a professional working relationship. Nothing more.”

“ _Sure_ you do,” Hunter answers patronizingly. “That’s why you stare at each other so much. And why I see you hugging all your agents, right? You gonna walk me to my bunk, too, Director?”

Coulson has the very strong desire to flip off Lance Hunter and feels a lot of pride in the fact that he holds back the gesture.

He manages to only frown at the insubordinate agent and then turns and walks away, aware that Hunter is silently laughing at him as he goes.

Instead of heading for his bunk, though — despite the late hour — Coulson finds himself stalking towards the back of the garage. He hasn’t visited since they got here, and for some reason, tonight it feels right.

He slows his steps as he approaches and takes a breath. Not seeing it has let him not think too hard about it, but Lola is in terrible shape. All of the scratches, dents, and bullet holes have oxidized, the windshield is still cracked, the wheels still don’t sit at the right angle.

He stands, staring at his car, as the world sort of fades around him.

“She still runs, you know.”

Coulson startles, then pivots back to see Skye walking towards him. She’s wearing sweats and carrying a blanket and her tablet.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I mean, her thrusters are shot and she needs serious body work, but she’s fixable, you know? She’s not lost.”

“How do you know that?” He thinks that last week, that would have come out sounding angry, but now it’s only curious. A little amused.

“I asked Mack to check. He said he wouldn’t fix her without your approval, but I figured it didn’t hurt to just know…”

“...how bad the damage was?”

“Yeah.”

“And if she had been unfixable?”

“No such thing. Not for Lola. She saved my life, and if we fit her with a cloaking device, she could still be a big asset.”

Coulson smiles at her, and finds himself pulled in her direction. He wants to touch her again — he finds himself _fixated_ on the idea of just laying a hand on her arm — so he does. She’s wearing a short sleeve shirt with her sweats, so his palm runs over warm, soft skin.

“Do you always believe in hopeless cases?”

“No.” Skye glances backwards and down, towards the room where she’s visited Ward too many times now.

“I know.”

Skye grabs him by the hand and pulls him towards Lola. He watches as she drapes her blanket over the driver’s side door and tosses her tablet on the seat, and he realizes for the first time that she was coming down here on her own. That she probably _has been_ coming down here on her own.

“ _You_ are not hopeless, sir. You’re just...not.”

Tonight is the first time he’s even partly believed it. Telling Skye, telling her everything, had been _so cathartic_. Watching her develop her theory, watching her touch his etchings, watching her look at him with the same look she always had — it had started to heal him.

“I still don’t believe that SHIELD’s resources —”

“We’re connected in this, though. The obelisk. Your writing. My father. HYDRA. It’s all connected. Ignoring one part of the puzzle out of a misplaced sense of duty isn’t going to help us get to the bottom of it.”

She glares at him, repeating words she had said earlier, and he nods. He understands her point. It is a good point.

“And we can figure it out. We _can_ , even if we don’t know how, yet,” she continues.

Her assurance that it’s possible — that it’s possible _together_ — almost makes him cry. As though she understands, she reaches forward and meets him as he walks into her arms, as he buries his face against the side of her head. It’s such _gratitude_ , such gratitude and relief.

“I’ve missed you,” Skye tells him, stroking a hand against his neck as she holds him to her; he wraps his arms low around her waist, pressing her body against his.

“I’ve missed you, too,” he whispers, too aware that his lips are right at her ear. Skye shivers at his words, and he nuzzles against the side of her head.

“I was worried… That we’d never get back to the way we were last year, you know? That’s all I’ve wanted for months, now.” Her fingers run up the back of his head, scratch through the hair at the base of his neck.

Coulson draws in a startled breath and stiffens in her arms. He’s fairly certain that they weren’t like this last year. Last year, as he recalls it, was innocent. Tonight...tonight has not been innocent, no matter what he’d claimed to Hunter. Whatever this is between them, it’s different. He thinks. Of course, he doesn’t actually understand what _this_ is, and the fact that it reminds Skye of last year makes him worry that it _is_ innocent.

“Hey, Coulson —” She pulls back a little, clearly concerned. He resists, keeps his arms wrapped too tightly around her.

“Phil. Call me Phil. Please.”

“Why?”

She sounds almost detached, and Coulson finally pulls back and meets her eyes.

“You wanted to, last year.”

“And you asked me not to.”

“But things have changed.”

“How?”

“ _Skye_.” He says her name as though that will excuse him from giving a reason.

“ _Phil_ ,” she answers, a tiny smile playing over her lips. Their eyes lock, and he can’t help swaying towards her, pressing her lower body against Lola’s driver side door with his hips.

“I got rid of levels.”

Skye laughs at that, and her hands land on his lower back. He lost his jacket and tie hours ago — remembers the look on Skye’s face as she watched him remove them — so the warmth of her fingers is palpable through the thin material of his shirt.

“You’re still the Director. You still have a level.”

“I could change that.” He’s so earnest, probably too earnest, too much like a boy trying to impress a girl. “Do you want to be the Director?”

Skye can’t quite hold back a smile at that, but her face quickly falls. Coulson brushes his right hand against her cheek, soothing the frown.

“I might be an alien, though, remember?”

“That doesn’t have anything to do with it.”

“And the fact that my father is apparently a murderer?”

“Doesn’t make you a murderer. Doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

“Then what am I?”

“You’re _Skye_ ,” he informs her, his voice too awed on the pronunciation of her name. But she is _Skye_ and he has always been more than a little in awe of her. She sort of laughs, sort of cries.

“I don’t know what that means anymore.”

“I don’t know what it means to be _me_ anymore,” he offers.

“Oh.” Her mouth falls open as she looks at him, and Coulson wonders for a moment what she sees. And then she leans forward and presses her lips to his.

He answers her kiss immediately, mouth hot and intense over hers as he cups her face in his hands.

“I didn’t think you wanted this,” she mumbles against his lips, and Coulson can only respond by groaning into her mouth as he deepens the kiss and slides his tongue against hers. He tries to show her, show her beyond any shadow of a doubt, that he _wants_ this.

Skye kisses him back harder, her lips urgent against his as she starts to tug his shirt out of his slacks until her palms rest on the bare skin of his lower back. He groans into her mouth again, presses his hips insistently against her.

It’s Coulson who finally has to break the kiss in order to gasp a few breaths against her lips. He expects her to look shocked at this happening, but all he sees in her eyes when he pulls back is pleasure and arousal.

“You want this.” He’s frankly amazed at the revelation, and Skye exhales a sound that might be a _guffaw_.

“I’ve wanted you _forever_.” As though he’s been an idiot not to notice.

He opens his mouth — wonders if this is the moment for a grand declaration, wonders what grand declaration he should make — but Skye uses her hands on his lower back to tug him back up against her.

“Just keep kissing me,” she instructs him, so he does.

His grip on reality outside of Skye’s mouth, Skye’s body, Skye’s hands on _his_ body, fades in and out as they kiss. Somewhere between her tongue mapping out the ridges of his teeth and her hands tugging the front of his shirt free of his slacks, they slide to the front of the car. Her hands roam across his back under his shirt, and every moment becomes a laser focus on her hands and her mouth and how she’ll touch him next.

When he tugs her shirt up over her head, he becomes incredibly aware of his surroundings again — of Skye sprawled across Lola’s hood, of her sharp gasp as her bare back comes into contact with the metal, of the way her bare breasts move as she writhes underneath him.

He has to move off of her, off of Lola, in order to strip her the rest of the way. He grips her sweats and panties and yanks them off her body, along with her slippers, in one sharp tug so that Skye is splayed naked across Lola’s hood. The sight of it could quite literally drive him insane, and he heaves in a huge breath, trying to find some sense of control.

“Touch me,” Skye begs him, and his gaze is drawn to the thatch of hair between her legs as she rubs her thighs together. “ _Please_ touch me.”

He touches himself instead, adjusts his erection inside his slacks so that it isn’t pressing into his inseam, and he can see Skye’s eyes follow his hand.

“Coulson,” she whines. “Phil, _please_.”

The sound of his name from her lips — the sound of his name and a _plea_ from her lips — is too much to handle. He had thought himself the desperate one, had thought himself alone in wanting her so much, and it’s gratifying to hear confirmation that she wants him back.

“Phil,” she calls his name again, and he thinks she can tell what it does to him. Their eyes lock as she begs for him, and he almost doesn’t notice when her right hand slips down her body and between her legs.

Her thighs clench tightly around her hand, so he can’t see what she’s doing, only that her wrist is moving.

“Spread your legs.”

Skye freezes for a moment, and her whole body turns pink. He worries for a moment that now that she’s more aware of what she was doing, she’ll be too embarrassed to continue. She manages, though, and slowly parts her legs to reveal herself to him.

Coulson tightens his jaw at the sight of Skye’s index and middle fingers circling her clit and then moving down to slip inside. She pumps her fingers rapidly, moving her hips along with her fingers as she chases down an orgasm. He can see how wet she is, how _ready_ she is, and he’s not sure whether he wants to bury his tongue or his cock between her legs more.

His eyes dart back up to hers, and Coulson is _almost_ surprised at how little shame Skye has at being fully exposed to him like this. Almost but not quite because, after all, she is _Skye_ and she has nothing to be remotely ashamed of. As he watches, she works a third finger inside herself and groans — he thinks she’s too desperate, too far from any release.

“Touch me,” she begs him again.

Coulson climbs easily up onto the car at that and kisses her, pressing his clothed body against her naked one. She moans at the contact, and her left hand — the one not still buried inside of herself — reaches back up under his shirt to feel his skin. He moves his lips down her neck, and fumbles to prop himself up enough to squeeze her breasts together so that he can slide his mouth from nipple to nipple. He sucks hard, merciless, as Skye fucks herself faster, practically slamming her hand against herself.

He’s surprised when her left hand fumbles at his belt. She fails to make any progress, though, so she quickly slides her hand down to massage his cock through his pants.

“Take off your pants.”

Coulson nods, releases the suction he’s been applying to her breasts and fumbles with his pants. Perching on the car like this hurts his knees, so he pulls back and drags Skye’s naked body to the edge of the hood as his slacks and then his briefs fall to his ankles. It’s not the perfect height — Skye’s a little too low, but he’s able to bend enough to brush his cock up against her.

They both groan as she finally slips her fingers out and uses that hand to tug his cock forward.

“Wait,” he grunts. “What about —”

“Safe,” she answers, and he nods, trusting her without a second thought.

He pushes forward into her in one stroke, too fast and too hard for a first time. Coulson pauses, takes a deep breath at the feel of her body squeezing down around him, at the sound of her moaning his name so loudly that it echoes through the whole garage.

He’s able to catch her right hand as she tugs it out from between their bodies, and he brings it to his lips as he makes a slow thrust of his hips, watching his cock as it sinks back inside of her. Skye thrusts up against him impatiently, but her eyes are locked on the sight of her fingers disappearing into his mouth. Coulson swirls his tongue around them, lapping up the taste of her, as he starts to move — too slowly, and a little awkwardly in the position.

Skye goes wild beneath him, though, arching up against him and lifting her legs up to drape over his shoulders. The angle is perfect, lets him support himself against her legs as he drives into her in short, hard thrusts. She moves her hands to her breasts, squeezes them together and pinches her nipples tightly.

“Like that,” she grunts between thrusts, “Don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop…”

She’s loud, demanding and ordering and begging and cursing and even hotter than he’s always imagined she would be. Taken altogether — the feel of her and the sight of her and the sounds of her — he finds himself approaching orgasm much faster than he’d like.

“Skye,” he grunts, a warning that quickly becomes a sigh of gratification as he feels her lose herself beneath him. She loses the ability to form words, just gasps as she clamps down hard around him. He falls further forward, almost bending her in half until his hands rest on either side of her head, and it takes him no time to follow her over the edge.

She rises up to kiss him, accepting the awkward folding of her body easily as he pulses inside of her. When he collapses on top of her, she easily slides her legs off of his shoulders and instead wraps them around his waist, welcoming his weight as he stays buried inside of her. Her hands brush through his hair, as though comforting him, and he sighs happily into her shoulder.

“I never thought we’d do that.” Her voice is quiet, low, and sated. The sound of it makes him smile.

“Neither did I.”

“It was pretty great, though. And now you _have_ to fix Lola.”

“I do?”

“So we can take her out and do that somewhere nicer.”

Coulson turns his head enough to look out at the garage around him and laughs.

“Good plan,” he agrees. “But next time, maybe my bed.”

“I’d like that.”

Her voice is soft, unsure, and Coulson pushes himself up enough to look down at her. He hates to think that he’s made her unsure, that he’s damaged the confidence Skye seems to have in all things.

“This...this isn’t a casual thing for you, is it?”

“No,” she answers. “I understand if you —”

“Skye,” he cuts her off. “I don’t want you to understand anything. I just want to know what you want.”

“I want you to bring me in on everything,” she answers. “I want to be your partner. In _everything_ .” Her voice quivers slightly on _everything_ and Coulson leans into kiss her, his lips firm and sure over hers.

“Yes. That's what I want, too.”

“Yeah?”

He brushes her hair back from her face and kisses her again, tries to put the answer to that question — the answer to a lot of questions — into that kiss.

“Good,” she whispers against his mouth as they break apart for air. “Is it too soon to get started on next time?”

Coulson laughs, especially at the feel of her squeezing down around him, at the reminder that he is still half-hard and buried inside of her.

“Not too soon for _your_ next time,” Coulson offers as he slides his hand between their bodies and presses against her clit.

Skye sighs, but pushes him back so that is cock finally slips out of her.

“In your bed, like you said.”

He nods, and they work quickly to gather up their discarded clothes and race towards his bunk.

 


End file.
